playground games (aren't just for kids)
by as my sleeves are wet with dew
Summary: au. one girl sits on the edge of a roof, while the other, the world. ( massie-centric; derrick/massie, cam/claire; unrequited claire/massie, hinted cam/derrick )


**title:** playground games (aren't just for kids)

**summary:** one girl sits on the edge of a roof, while the other, the world.

**pairings:** massie-centric; derrick/massie, cam/claire; unrequited claire/massie, hinted cam/derrick**  
**

**warnings:** implied suicide, strong themes of homophobia, slurs, swearing

**a/n:** 140520 / 1756w. word vomit: lapslock edition.

* * *

"um, sorry. you can't sit with us."

the girl tilts her head, smile unwavering, though she grips the azure lunch tray tighter. "why not?"

massie sets down her fork and knife, refusing to meet the other girl's eyes. she knows the answer.

"aren't you, like, les or something?"

alana says this loud, at least, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. as for the other half, they turn to the scene once they notice everyone else looking.

the girl isn't smiling anymore. her knuckles are white, her hazel eyes open wide like a deer caught in headlights.

"well, yeah. we don't want any _lesbos_ sitting with us. we don't want to catch the _disease_," alana sneers.

massie's toes curl in her flats. she clasps her hands together in her lap. she can feel the girl's eyes on her, burning holes of guilt through her skull.

alana notices.

"ugh, gross, _ew_-mily! stop staring at massie like that, you're making her uncomfortable!"

emily drops her tray on their table, the plastic and metal clattering, mashed potatoes and salad vinaigrette splattering the girls' faces and hundred-dollar blouses. gasps can be heard throughout the room, but no one speaks.

"fine," she says through gritted teeth, and massie knows that emily wasn't talking to alana.

emily walks out, head held high. she pushes open the glass doors, and that's the last time massie sees her. once she leaves, everyone bursts into conversation.

"i _hate_ people like that. my parents say that they're defects." alana rolls her eyes, before turning to massie. "i'm so sorry you had to deal with how _it_ stared at you like that, massie."

and massie can't bring herself to reply.

—-

they're in seventh grade and the stigma of girls liking other girls is already so strong.

* * *

"i like boys."

derrick says this right after they kiss for the first time. they're behind the school building. massie is wearing a thick, red duffle coat, a pleated nude skirt, white knee-high socks, and black boots. derrick is wearing the same coat as his girlfriend, but in navy, black adidas shorts, white knee-high socks, and red air jordans. vapour appears with each breath they take, each word they speak.

the first thing massie does is hug him. she pulls him into her embrace, almost suffocatingly. derrick is taken aback, because, out of all the reactions he prepared for out of her, this definitely wasn't one of them. he pulls away first.

"what? you're not mad? sad? disgusted?" he asks.

"no, not at all, stupid," she says. she almost laughs. "i-i like girls."

derrick covers his mouth with his hand. "seriously? you have to be kidding, massie." he shakes his head incredulously. "no, you—no." he falls onto a snow-covered bench, and holds his head in his hands. massie brushes the snow off next to him before taking a seat on the bench. she wants to cry.

"i do, derrick. i really do," she whispers. massie places a cool hand on his back. when he looks up, his eyes are wet, and it's the first time massie sees him cry.

"what are we going to do, mas?" he whispers back, voice tremoring.

"keep on pretending, derrick," massie answers, holding back tears of her own. "just, keep on pretending."

—-

they're in ninth grade and maybe if they just pretend, it'll be all right.

* * *

"fight in the courtyard!"

everyone makes a beeline out the classroom door and to the courtyard. massie checks her iphone for the nth time that day. no text from derrick. claire catches up to her, touching her shoulder. massie immediately flinches away.

"kuh-laire! what did i say about personal space?" claire rolls her eyes.

"'this is a two-thousand dollar blazer, kuh-laire!' 'get your target-brand mittens _off_ of me, kuh-laire!' yeah, yeah, massie. i get it," claire says as they get closer to the courtyard. "i wonder what the fight's about."

_always concerned about the why and not the who,_ massie thinks. as they turn the corner to the courtyard, the two push through the barrier of people surrounding the scene to the front. when they get there, claire gasps.

"derrick!" massie yells, but she receives no answer. derrick lays unconscious at the opposite edge of the circle. in the middle are four boys; three of them massie can't recognise, but the fourth one standing by himself, massie can identify as cam, a bruise that wasn't there yesterday budding over his left eye. claire seems to notice him as well, and starts to move to him, but massie stops her.

"cam, the fuck?" the stockiest of the three says, spitting out a tooth. "why are you defending a fucking _faggot_?"

massie freezes, because _no no no this isn't supposed to happen, isn't supposed to happen, _can't_ be happening._

cam steps forward and shoves him. "say that again, fucker, i dare you."

they have to be from cam's school she thinks, judging by their uniform, however dishevelled. the two other boys who were standing dormant before push cam onto the ground, pinning him down. cam struggles, but no matter how hard he tries, their grips hold him like quicksand; the more he struggles, the worse it gets. the third one, the one that he shoved earlier, steps on cam's ankle. cam cries out.

"we thought you were cool, fisher, not a fucking poof." he grinds his foot down. "what will your old man say when he hears about this? no, actually, what will your _bitch_ say when she hears about this?"

"she's not a fucking _bitch_, andrews. don't you dare call her that," cam says tautly through tears of pain.

andrews laughs, a grating, raucous noise. "what? so claire's your girlfriend and _harrington's_ your bitch? ho-"

"that is _enough_!"

everyone turns to the voice. they all part to make way for mr. bennett, goodwin preparatory school's principal.

"now, what in god's name is going on here?" he demands. no one says a word. mr. bennett narrows his eyes.

"you boys do not attend my school. by the looks of your uniforms, you must be a student of our brother school, briarwood. considering that this is your first offence, you may leave, before i call your principal."

the three boys run off the school grounds as fast as their legs can carry them.

"and for the rest of you lot, go back your classes!" he booms.

mr. bennett begins walking back to the main buildings, not even sparing a glance at the two other boys on the ground.

"wait!" claire cries. mr. bennett stops and pivots to face the blonde.

"what is it, young woman?"

claire gestures to the boys on the ground, eyes full of concern. "aren't you going to-to... _help_ them?"

mr. bennett maintains his stoic expression, a touch of disgust showing on his face. "no, they brought it onto themselves. get to class, and bring your friend along with you before i suspend you both." he turns and walks back to the building.

massie kneels beside derrick, who is just beginning to gain consciousness. "why... why..." she whispers, pressing her eyes closed. tears cascade down her foundationed cheeks and onto derrick's bare face. his eyes flutter open. "is it raining?" he tries to sit up, wincing from a sudden sharp pain from his ribcage. "massie, why are you crying? please don't cry." massie wipes her face, not caring about her make-up smudging.

"is he okay?" derrick asks, opting to stay lying down. he tries to crane his neck, but it hurts too much.

"h-he's—n-yeah, he's fine, derrick," massie manages to stammer out. she turns to see claire and cam hugging, the blonde's face buried in her boyfriend's shoulder. "just worry about yourself for now. claire's taking care of him."

derrick stops trying to look.

"i'm sorry," massie whispers. derrick gives her a tired smile.

"i guess this is just how it's supposed to be for us, huh?"

"yeah."

—-

they're in eleventh grade and they both get tired of playing pretend.

* * *

silence

consumes the room. massie sits on the carpeted floor. she's crouched over her knees, arms wrapped around her legs. she leans onto the wall where the two planes meet. two white bottles and a azure-cased iphone sit facing her. the mobile has its screen facing up, still shining. it's opened onto a conversation.

**c. lyons:** haha, mas, i think you sent this to the wrong person? (:

**you:** no

**you:** i didnt make a mistake

**c. lyons:** umm then is this some kind of a prank?

**c. lyons:** massie?

**c. lyons:** seriously, massie. this isn't funny.

**c. lyons:** i'm with cam.

**c. lyons:** and i don't like girls...

**c. lyons:** massie?

**c. lyons:** please respond i'm getting worried...

the screen darkens.

massie thinks about all those times they went out together, shopping, going to the arcade, or just sitting on claire's roof, expressing worries and admissions of doubt and concern for the future. "am i really going to get into harvard?" "i totally bombed my last exam!". other times, just sitting there in silence beside each other, watching the sun set. massie liked those days the most.

the phone lights up again, and massie knows it isn't claire. she reaches out and grabs her phone.

**d. harrington:** areyou ready

**you:** more ready than ill ever be

**d. harrington:** what did she say

**you:** she doesnt like me and she never will

**you:** and shes with cam

**you:** what about you

**d. harrington:** he said he was sorry

**d. harrington:** nd that hes w ithclaire

**d. harrington:** he was drunk it was a one time thign

**you:** figures

**you:** at least you got some

**d. harrington:** he wont stop texting me f uckk

**you:** same w claire

**d. harrington:** god lets just DO IT ALready

**d. harrington:** lmao did i just say god

**you:** youre drunk arent you

**d. harrington:** itll hurt less

**you:** did you lock the door?

**d. harrington:** no one shoem

**d. harrington:** home

**you:** okay

**you:** lets do this fast

**you:** no regrets

**d. harrington:** no regrests

—-

they're in twelfth grade and figure that they're too old to play pretend anymore.

* * *

_fin._


End file.
